The Black Tree. A poem.

The tree is black and formless, its charred soul departed so many years before from this noxious darkness. This fractured stump, dreaming of chlorophyll and carbon dioxide smells. This burned and sullen timber that in this wasteland dwells. If you liked that, then you’ll love the poems in my first book The All or theContinue reading “The Black Tree. A poem.”

Black Rain. A poem.

I watched the black rain from my window. It spilled down the pane in tarry streaks, a Malevich canvas. I watched the flowers gently steam and wilt. The dark water spilled down onto the road and into the gutters. It flowed into the sewers and thence to the sea. There it merged with chemicals, plastics,Continue reading “Black Rain. A poem.”